


Footloose

by LindaMaceMichalik



Series: Well met [3]
Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 13:27:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17850323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindaMaceMichalik/pseuds/LindaMaceMichalik
Summary: Outside the tent, Alexander crouched, cried for one small betrayal and for a future he sensed he could no more avoid than Achilles could his destiny.





	Footloose

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - I have no rights nor profit from making use of the characters from - Mary Renault's Alexander Trilogy and Madeline Miller's Song of Achilles.  
> ====  
> Not in the bar, this one got away from me ...

[ ](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jacques-Louis_David_Patrocle.jpg)

Patroclus, Jacques-Louis David [Public domain]

 

 

Bare foot, naked, salt encrusted, dusty, soaring high as an Eagle across the plains of Ilium, Alexander pushed through the dropped flap of his tent, fully expecting to finding his Patroclus waiting inside.

"I beat you Phaei! I gave you the smoother path and still I beat you! We honoured them together - no one can deny what we are to each other now - no one but a fool..." his voice died and his hand flew to his naked thigh as if to draw his sword, his dagger.

The ash covered man hunched in the corner barely looked up, did not cease keening to a lyre he cradled to his chest, playing it like a drawn cat, yowling in anguish.

Neither man moved. Without lifting his head the musician lowered his lyre to his pallet bed.  
"Where is proud Hector now - turned to ash? Where is my Patroclus? ALL the gods be damned and take Helen and Paris straight to Hades - "  
" And you with them!!" He flung his head up, his face dust streaked by rivulets of tears, red rimmed eyes piercing Alexanders's, blue to blue, blonde to grimed blonde."  
" I will NOT be disturbed!"  
" Aristos achaeon! Aristos achaeon! Aristos achaeon!" he wailed at the roof of the tent throwing his head back, tearing at his hair.

Alexander stared at the man, taking in the piled, blood flaked bronze armour, the open chest of chalices, furs, silks, chains piled high - the loot of ten years raiding and siege warfare. He never once allowed his eyes to stray from those of the finest Greek Warrior of all ages. He sank to his knees, granting the half deity, the Olympian hero the honour due him, one half god to another.

"Where?" the man cried.

Alexander understood, himself pierced by the future; this was what the loss of Hephaestion would look like.

 

"Admit it you, cheated Xander!" Another dusty, naked man pushed into the tent, darker, taller, more regal than Alexander, damn him!

Alexander letting the sleight pass gripped his hand. Their eyes met. Words rarely needed for the important thoughts, the higher matters that they had learnt of in Mieza at the feet of Aristotle and in the lee of the vixen's covet.

Alexander's eyes begged him; Hephaestion nodded, agreed. A tiny cut. Xander pushed out of the tent, grabbing at a chiton, at any clothing he could pull out of Achilles war chest.

Phaei slid across and down to Achilles. He gently moved the lyre off of the pallet and knelt down to embrace the stricken hero. Achilles drew back to see him, took hold the strangers hands. His red rimmed eyes bore into Phaei's hazel and gold, ate in the look of his dark, tightly curled hair. He drew in a shuddered breath and slowly shook his head. Phaei smiled, nodding, he pulled him to the bed; Achilles allowed himself to be led. He sighed as the hands parted his hair, the beautiful faced lowered to meet his.

Hephaestion only did as he'd been asked, did what he hoped someone might do for his Alexander when he could not be there to comfort him. Soulmates did no less in facing such grief beyond all understanding.

Outside the tent, Alexander crouched, cried for one small betrayal and for a future he sensed he could no more avoid than Achilles could his destiny, his moira.  
\---


End file.
